


I Was An Ocean, You Were A Storm

by Thedorktah



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: #Sad, #angst, EVERYTHING HURTS AND NOTHING IS OKAY, Jamilton - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Multi, prepare to cry, so tumblr it hurts, very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedorktah/pseuds/Thedorktah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do not trust people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me -like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. So when I leave, you will finally understand, why storms are named after people" </p><p>And understanding was something Alexander Hamilton came to gain, after everything that happened. He had to wonder, If there would ever be a storm big enough to accommodate Thomas Jefferson. He doubt it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was An Ocean, You Were A Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start by saying sorry way in advance.. I am so sorry. This fic is very sad, I'm very sad.  
> Also, please be aware I wrote this whilst extremely sleep deprived whilst running on about 3 coffees, there may be mistakes. Forgive me.  
> Please do come and join me in crying in the comment section.

At the age of 27, lieutenant colonel John Laurens was killed in battle. This, just weeks before the British soldiers withdrew from Charleston, signalling an American victory in a war for independence.  A victory John Laurens would never see. On Tuesday 27th of August, 1782…among the chaos of battle, he was shot from the saddle of his stallion. The shot gravely wounded him. He fell, lifeless body colliding with the grass before the embankment of the Combahee River. Death doing little to discriminate between British and American soldiers alike, as their frail bodies fell, broken, upon the same blood soaked soil of a battlefield. 

Tuesday 27th August. That date haunted Alexander Hamilton; and still, when reflected upon, would bring about fits of unimaginable grief. The kind of which, then in turn caused tear after tear to fall. Tuesday 27th August was the hardest day In Alexander’s life; it was the day he lost the love of his life.

The second hardest day of Alexander Hamilton’s life began slowly; each action in his new morning routine had become languorous. Methodically, he rose, showered, ate and tried fruitlessly to shake the hangover. A task that seemed all too familiar to him lately, the false solace he found in alcohol blinding him to a newly found dependence on whatever liquor he could find. Last night it had been Samuel Adams, The first drink he had shared with John Laurens. Alex found it only too fitting, considering what today had in store. He could do all but hope that no one could tell he had been drinking, especially his friends, that was a lecture he could definitely live without. The last thing he needed was an intervention, not right now. As he stared at today’s date in his calendar, he considered filling up and taking a flask, if only to help him cope.  

Saturday 8th  September, today was the day John Laurens is set to be buried. And so, with a heavy heart Alexander Hamilton left his temporary living accommodation-a rented room above a tavern. The place being just an hour’s ride from the Laurens family cemetery: Mepkin Abbey, South Carolina. He arrived at midday, when the sun was highest in the sky. He hated that, he hated how the sun could shine on the day that he felt the very sky itself should be weeping for the loss of John. It was unfair. He felt like he had a raging, unrelenting storm inside his heart and he was bitter that this wasn’t reflected in the Southern Carolina sky. As he grew closer to the cemetery he steeled himself at the sight of those who had already arrived. God, he couldn’t even be at the place early. At that, he was ashamed. Today was going to be tough.     

The entire day became a blur of condolences, unwelcome looks of sympathy and uncomfortable silences. The only people who didn’t seem to treat Alex any different were those closest to him, who also knew and loved John dearly. The very people who definitely noticed how rough Alex looked that afternoon -not just from the funeral, the people whom, Alex was sure, knew he had been drinking again. Thankfully, if they could tell, they hadn’t said anything. This however, didn’t make him feel any less guilty. He was sure at least two of the Schuyler sisters would offer their opinions at some time in the near future. He began to wish he did bring that flask after all.

Then the time came for those who knew John best, to say a few words in his honor. His family, of course, was choosing to remain silent at this time. The first to speak was Hercules Mulligan, he began to talk about how he met John, how he fought by his side and many other fond memories he had. Alex’s anxiety started to grow, He stared blankly at the piece of paper he held in his shaking hands, losing himself inside his own head. No amount of words he wrote, could ever converse his feelings for John, no amount of worse he spoke would ever show his grief but the words he had finally decided upon came only marginally close. 

When he finally came back to his senses, Lafayette was finishing his speech on an anecdote; he was talking about when he fought alongside John during the Battle of Brandywine back in ’77. The only part of which Alex managed to catch was when Lafayette, reflecting on the battle, mused that, "It was not his fault that he was not killed or wounded ... he did everything that was necessary to procure one or the other." meaning well, Lafayette didn’t seem to understand how much those words would wound Alex.  The very words slicing through his heart like a blade. Suddenly Alexander Hamilton felt sick, he did all he could to stop the tears from falling. This was a fruitless task of course; there was no stopping the flow off his tearful repressed emotions.

It was now his time to talk. Alexander Hamilton silently stood beside John Laurens coffin and with a shaky, emotional voice he began to speak.

“I feel the deepest affliction at the news we have received at the loss of our dear and inestimable friend Laurens. His career of virtue is at end. How strangely are human affairs conducted, that so many excellent qualities could not ensure a more happy fate! The world will feel the loss of a man who has left few like him behind; and America, of a citizen whose heart realized that patriotism of which others only talk. I feel the loss of a best friend whom I truly and most tenderly loved”

His voice wavered only slightly as he then turned away from the crowd and directly faced John’s coffin. He sighed heavily and spoke with tender purpose, he had to say this, he had to get it right. This part he didn't wish to share with anyone else, This was intended purely for no one but John. Alexander Hamilton didn't believe in ghosts but if but for a second, he wished he did so that his beloved Laurens would hear the final words he would say to his spirit. Instead, he whispered to a lifeless body laid within a closet casket before him. The casket that held the love of his life. a whimpering voice managed to muster what little strength he had left to speak the only words that Alexander Hamilton ever felt the need to tell the body of his lover, the body of his John Laurens.

“Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I loved you. I have but the regret that I say this on the day I bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you....You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed…” It was at this that he finally cracked, determined not to show just how fragile he was in front of those closest to him, He excused himself. He refused to break down. Not here. 

When he returned, he was met with concerned looks from Eliza which he could all but wave off. She knew better than to press him and so, after lightly squeezing his hand she allowed him to effortlessly squeeze back to the place he previously stood. No matter how many times he saw John's Coffin, new waves of grief and nausea swept through every part of Alexander’s body. His Excellency, president George Washington ended his speech and the ceremony with a description of John that will always stay with Alex. It was brief, exact and accurate. He described John Laurens perfectly. He said, “In a word, he had not a fault that I ever could discover, unless intrepidity bordering upon rashness could come under that denomination; and to this he was excited by the purest motives.”  

Just like that, it was over. The second hardest day of Alexander Hamilton’s life, as those around him started to leave he hung back, allowing himself to get lost among the large crowd. He felt as though he was drowning in a sea of mourners. The crowd eventually dissipated. With only a few people remained; The Laurens family, the Schuyler sisters, Hercules, Lafayette and a few others that fought alongside John. They stood for a while in silence, in solidarity for their fallen friend. They stood around the grave together and watched the crowd of people dissipate and exit the grounds, for a while it was peaceful, that was until Angelica Schuyler grabbed his shoulder lightly whilst pointing to something in the distance, Her face almost unreadable -if Alex didn't know any better, he'd almost mistake it...for anger?...That only made his stomach drop. He feared looking at what she wanted him to see, the thing that seemed to make her so angry. It was only then when Alexander Hamilton saw him, stood several feet away beside a large oakwood tree. He was stood among the crowd leaving the cemetery. He saw _him_ , the man who had no right being _here_ of all places. The man who made his very blood boil.

Thomas Jefferson.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I say I was sorry? because I am very sorry.
> 
> I'd be lying if I said I didn't take inspiration from this song:  
> https://soundcloud.com/archer1359/24-laurens-interlude?in=archer1359/sets/the-hamilton-workshop 
> 
> which is by war the worst ever version of Lauren's death interlude and I am very glad it was cut from the musical.  
> Next up: 'Smooth Sea Don't Make Good Sailors'  
> Come and cry with me on tumblr maybe? thedorktah@tumblr.com


End file.
